


Wrinkles

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is nervous, Cecil is understanding and willing to take things slow and treat Carlos with care, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Tentacles, and bad with intimacy, babys first tentacle porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos has severe anxiety over romantic and sexual matters, due to both his age and complete lack of experience. </p><p>It's a good thing that he has Cecil, who's willing to ease him into it as slowly as he needs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Figured I should write some tentacle porn eventually. I also like the headcanon that Carlos is super awkward with respect to romance, and that's the reason it took him so long to reciprocate Cecil's feelings and actually ask him out. 
> 
> NSFW will be next chapter!

Carlos was a virgin.

It wasn't that he didn't have a sex drive, or that he didn't want it, or hadn't wanted it in the past. It was just. Well. 

He had always had somewhat of a one-track mind, and once research and grad work had taken over his life, it was difficult for him to split focus between the professional and personal. Any romantic pressure from prospective mates had always made him shut down and withdraw back into his studies until all of that potential had successfully evaporated and the person had moved on. 

Dating had just never been in the cards. Neither had casual hook ups, or friends with benefits, or anything that ventured beyond nervous feelings and a couple of awkward kisses. By the time he'd received his  he'd fully realized his lack of romantic experience and felt _heavily_ self-conscious. The position in Night Vale, however life-threatening, had offered an escape and a distraction from all that embarrassment.  

Because Carlos was in his thirties and a _virgin_ and everything he'd ever seen or heard told him that that was weird. It was easier to not think about it, or talk about it, and just focus on his work trying to save the town from itself. 

And then Cecil had come into the picture, _Cecil_ who fell in love with him _instantly_ , despite knowing next to nothing about him aside from the fall of his hair and the geometry of his jaw. Cecil, who'd called him _perfect_ and _beautiful_ and words that Carlos had heard a thousand times before but never in reference to himself. The fact that someone could feel so deeply so _suddenly_ about him seemed like such an astronomical impossibility that Carlos hadn't been able to believe it at first. Or for a very long time. He tuned into Cecil's show a couple of times but always seemed to have the luck to listen and pay attention at the exact moment when the host would go off on another gushing tangent over his hair, or his voice, or his choice of vehicle. 

He'd heard Cecil talk about him in that smooth and silky voice that sounded like dark chocolate running over the quiet rocks at the bottom of a river bed. He'd heard that rich voice break into high-pitched, excited squealing over something as simple as an impersonal phone call and a couple of voicemails. He'd heard Cecil gush about the heavy, "oaky" tones of his voice when Carlos had always believed his to be rather reedy, almost nasally in timbre. 

He'd never heard anyone talk about him the way that Cecil talked about him, and at first it was downright terrifying. It was still downright terrifying, but in a different way. 

Ever since that fateful night, following his near-death in the tiny city below Lane Five, Carlos had been less anxious around Cecil. His heart had been hammering--either from blood loss or adrenaline, he couldn't discern which--and in a rush of emotion he'd contacted Cecil, and one thing had led to another. 

It'd taken him another month, almost, to contact Cecil again and set up a date. A full _month_ , full of false-starts and embarrassment and long nights dancing his fingers over the phone receiver but never actually picking it up. Finally, he had just stopped beating around the bush and asked him. And it had been fine--for the most part, Carlos still couldn't believe how he'd stupidly panicked and suggested they do some "tree science," ugh--and at the end he had shocked himself by leaning in and pressing a kiss to Cecil's lips. 

Despite his fears, things since then had progressed smoothly. Carlos was getting to be more and more comfortable around Cecil, but when things got more-- _heated_ , he still tended to shut down 

One humiliating incident happened not a week back, after a late date to the Moonlite All-Nite Diner for a slice of non-Euclidean boysenberry pie. He'd invited Cecil into the lab without thinking, and had set down his lead-lined To Go box on the counter when he felt something warm press up against him, and he'd turned around to find his mouth full of Cecil. 

It should have felt good, it should have felt _great_ and he couldn't deny the fact that he'd been wanting this, fantasizing about it. But the moment Cecil's lips touched his he'd felt absolute _fear_ boiling in his stomach. He didn't know where it was coming from because he did like Cecil and he did want it, but nevertheless a hot terror had bubbled up, paralyzing his throat and his limbs as Cecil's body consumed both. He'd felt helpless and voiceless, wanting to stop or at least slow down despite how good he was feeling. Finally, he'd managed to let out a distressed little whimper and Cecil had pulled back like Carlos had suddenly turned red-hot or had sprouted spines, which wouldn't be entirely unusual but was not the case. Carlos hadn't even noticed that he'd started tearing up until Cecil had started holding his face and brushing the wetness away from his eyes with such a guilty look that Carlos could barely meet them as he scrubbed the red from his cheeks. His anxiety had instantly turned to shame as he stammered and tried to calm Cecil down while kicking himself for acting like a teenager. 

"It's not your fault," he had reiterated over and over after that, because it really _wasn't_ , it was Carlos' fault for not saying something earlier or setting boundaries or at least talking about the fact that he'd never done this sort of thing before and was insanely nervous. He'd assured Cecil that things like apologetic public self-flagellation  or the ritualistic defenestration of the one intern who made _particularly_ dreadful and watery coffee were unnecessary.

"Cecil, it's fine. Like I said, I just. I haven't really done this before and it caught me by surprise and I--I guessed I freaked out. But it's not your fault, okay Cecil?"

Following the failed tryst in the kitchen Carlos had managed to coerce Cecil into laying on his lap despite the man moaning about how he was "irredeemable" and "the worst boyfriend _ever_ " and "not good enough to be aspirating the same volume of air that Carlos was. 

Carlos squeezed the back of his neck, eyebrows knit upwards in frustration. He wished Cecil would just let this go, instead of treating him like a hurt child. Cecil was more upset than he was, it was ridiculous. 

Carlos put his hand on the wrist that Cecil had melodramatically flung over his eyes, and tried to move it until he can see him. He gave a tiny smile once he can see that dark sliver of purple. 

 "Cecil, you can touch me and I'm--I'm not going to break, I just. I don't know why that happened. I was just nervous, all right?" He repeated, patting Cecil's shoulder as the man lays in his lap, staring up at him with deepset, miserable eyes. 

"Come on, and sit up, Cecil. I want to kiss you." Cecil groaned and began to speak but Carlos silence him anyway by leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Cecil didn't kiss back at first, but when Carlos pulled up and away Cecil followed him, sitting up in the scientist's lap. It was nice, and the light hop in Carlos chest was warm and not panicked. He pulled back, swiping the pads of his fingers under Cecil's eyes. 

"There. Okay? Now stop being ridiculous."

He bites his lip and looks down. Cecil slides one arm around his neck, eyes questioning. 

"I do w-want you. I promise. Okay Cecil? Sometime soon. I promise."

By "sometime soon," he had meant after a couple of more dates, or after they'd gotten more physically comfortable around each other, or maybe after they'd managed to make out without tears and panic attacks on his part. 

However, "sometime soon" turned out to be two nights later. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, this took me awhile to put out! Sorry for the delay. This is the longest NSFW thing I've ever written, I hope it's all right!

All day Carlos had been observing the mating cycles of the Night Vale Cactus Fiendwyrms, who'd taken on patterned shades of orange-blue, and while they were certainly not the most _erotic_ of creatures, they still brought certain feelings to mind. After the debacle the other night, Carlos wanted to make it up to Cecil. What's more, he felt like he finally needed to overcome the nervousness that had been holding him back from way too long. He _liked_ Cecil. A whole lot. He liked him and he wanted to have sex with him, and that was _okay_. Everything was going to be okay. 

So that night, with Cecil waiting patiently on the stained couch adjacent to Carlos' work table--waiting for him to finish so they could go out for Rico's, as had been planned--Carlos decides to pop the question. 

"Cecil, uhm."

The other man perks up, fingers in his lap twitching as his eyes move from where Carlos hands have been scrawling out notes and calculations and up to the man's face.

"Yes? What is it? Have you discovered something, Carlos?"

Carlos taps his pen anxiously against the table, pushing the laboratory goggles up on his forehead. He bites his lip, scruffing a hand through his hair. 

"Uhm, no. Not exactly." 

Cecil's mouth parts slightly. It's distracting. Carlos wants to kiss him badly, in that moment, but he really needs to explain himself first. Get his intentions out first. Then they can move forward. 

"I kind of. Well. I kind of want to," he makes a motion with his hands, hoping that gets it across so he doesn't have to actually say the words. 

"Yes? What is it?"

No such luck. Carlos shuts his eyes and counts to three. One, two--

"I want to have sex."

It comes out all at once, in a jumble. He feels his face heat up. Cecil only blinks, unfazed.

"Right now?"

"Uh, yeah. Or like. As soon as possible." 

Cecil pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, regarding the scientist with some careful skepticism. 

"Are you sure, Carlos? We don't have to, you know. I am perfectly content in spending my time with you like this--but of course I would _love_ to have sex with you, provided we fill out the proper paperwork first--"

Carlos loses his grip on his trademark Not-A-Pen, sending it clattering across the table. 

"P-paperwork?" 

"Well, yes, of course! One second, just let me--fetch it."

Cecil rises, making his way to the front door and popping his head outside. Carlos can hear him shouting some--very specific and _explicit_ things. 

He feels about ready to die from embarrassment, but settles just for placing his face in both of his hands until Cecil returns to the table with the appropriate paperwork. Carlos looks up at him, exasperated. Cecil tuts, picking up the pen with two fingers and placing it gingerly into Carlos hand. 

"Don't give me that look, mister. We must be municipally-sanctioned if we are to do anything."

He taps the papers.  

"Now, you've got to sign here, and here, and here, and in the margins here, and backwards right at the bottom here."

Carlos's scrawls out the signatures quickly, grateful that it gives his nervous hands something to do. 

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Cecil gently takes him by the hands, helping him to his feet. 

"Now, those forms restrict sexual conduct to this building, for the time being, so do you…do you have a place you would specifically like to go? We're covered for all surfaces and positions, don't fret."

Carlos wishes he could smooth down his shirt, or fix his hair, or do _something_ , but Cecil has a light, but firm hold on both of his hands. Instead, he jerks his head over in the direction of the flight of stairs in the corner of the makeshift lab. 

"Yeah, we've got the apartment upstairs…"

Moments later, they're in the dimmed light of Carlos' room. The scientist sits awkwardly on the bed, eyes casting about on everything that he should have cleaned up or organized in anticipation of tonight. It's messy and he can smell some old food rotting just out of sight, but Cecil doesn't seem to mind. At least, he doesn't say anything. 

Instead, Cecil busies himself around the room, adjusting things and whispering into other things and etching sigils onto things and doing a variety of things that Carlos doesn't really understand. It's only when he throws up the shades and inches open the window that Carlos decides to intervene. 

"Cecil, I--I would like it if we could keep the windows closed," he knows they are on the second story, but that doesn't ease his discomfort. "Or at least keep the shades down."

He knows it can get hot, and he figures that would be a good compromise. Leave the window open, but keep a bit of privacy. But Cecil shakes his head, and he feels his heart sink.  

"We _have_ to keep the shades open, Carlos. For the sake of the Secret Police."

Carlos stares at the window in horror. 

"Are they--are they watching?"

Cecil chuckles, and gives him a blithe smile. 

"Oh, they're always watching Carlos, don't be silly."

Carlos feels his stomach curl with anxiety, and clutched a pillow tight to middle.

"I--I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with that," he stammers out, ready to call this whole thing off when he feels two palms on his knees. He look up and is met with a gentle kiss on the bridge of his nose, followed by a chuckle of a breath against his cheeks. 

"They're always watching, yes, but that doesn't mean we'll find someone _looking_ in through our window, Carlos. The Secret Police are ever-present, yes, but they're not _nosy._ Not when they don't have to be. 

He rubs at Carlos' knee with his thumb, and gives him a secretive smile. 

"But if they notice that the blinds are closed, then they'll come in and interrupt, and perhaps file a citation, and I don't think either of us want that."

That does make Carlos feel a bit better; but he doesn't know if that's due to the actual content of the words or the fact that Cecil's regarding him with such affection, such care. As if to punctuate that thought, Cecil leans in an plants a few kisses, one on the side of his nose and one on his cheek. He lingers there so he can whisper gently into the hair right before Carlos' ear. 

"Don't you worry about a thing. I will take care of you." 

Cecil sighs, dreamily. 

"Just tell me. What do you want?"

"I--I don't--"

Carlos sounds small and pathetic, and it makes his cheeks burn.

"I don't know."

Cecil hums, kissing at Carlos' cheekbone. 

"Well, then. I suppose I'll just have to help you figure out what is it you _do_ want."

Cecil pushes Carlos back until the man is lying down. He then sits carefully on Carlos' hips, fingering the top buttons of his flannel. He pops them off slowly, trailing down as he reverently reveals the man's body, his breathing hitching with each heretofore unseen patch of skin and hair. Carlos goes back and forth between watching Cecil's face and watching his deft fingers slowly divest him of his clothing. 

A new anxiety springs up as the sides of his shirt fall to the bed on both sides of his body. Cecil hasn't seen his body before, and suddenly Carlos becomes painfully aware of every last imperfection and defect he'd ever poked and prodded at in the mirror, or in bed when the mirrors had been turned off for the day. 

The fatty paunch he had been steadily working off ever since arriving in Night Vale still isn't small enough, the hair on his stomach and chest is too thick and wiry, the scars from chemical burns and the weaponry of a tiny civilization are too ruddy and rough; all of this and more leaps to his mind as Cecil looks at more and more of his body. He even reaches up a hand to stop Cecil and tug the clothing back into place, but before he gets his chance Cecil lets out a shuddering breath and places both of his hands on Carlos' middle, smoothing them upward with reverence. He looks like he was on the verge of a spiritual awakening, and Carlos worries for a moment that he's going to fall into a fit of gormless gibbering as he sees Cecil's eyes roll back into his head. But they return within the same second, albeit rolling up from his bottom lid instead of back from the top. Cecil smiles at him, glows at him as he moves his hands down, gently kneading at Carlos' stomach. 

"Oh," Cecil draws his words out in a breath, tremulous in its reverent shudder. "Oh, _Carlos_ , this is wonderful. You are so wonderful. There is so much I want to do, I just don't know where to start. "

He brushes his cheek up against Carlos' solar plexus, sighing. He lays there for a moment, and Carlos is about to rouse him, worrying that Cecil had _really_ fallen into a trance this time when the man's violent gaze flickers up to his face. 

"If I do anything that you don't like, please tell me. I'll stop. Even if it _aches_ me to do so, I will stop. I don't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you Carlos, never." 

Cecil melts further down Carlos body, hands cupping lightly under where his ass meets his thighs as his teeth combs over the hair on his stomach, eventually biting onto the waistband of his jeans. Carlos watches as Cecil's mouth; his _mouth_ in all its incomparable deftness undoes his belt and tugs it loose, before pulling the zipper down with his teeth. That's clearly just for show, however, because Cecil's hands soon came back into play, pulling the scientists pants and boxers over his hips and completely free of his legs. 

Cecil's self-assured composure rocks slightly at that, and he let out a tiny squawk at seeing what's underneath those layers of underclothes. 

"What is it?" Carlos' levers himself up, but Cecil regains his smile and shakes his head. 

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Lay back, please."

He sits back rather dumbly, his thighs splayed over Cecil's own as the other man loosens his tie, letting it drape over his shoulders as he unbuttons his shirt. Carlos' tension begins to melt as he sees more and more of Cecil's skin, equalizing their mutual nakedness. 

"You haven't done this before," it's more of a statement than a question, so Carlos doesn't respond. He merely watches as Cecil undoes his own pants, and tosses them aside. 

"I don't think it will hurt. I've done this before. To others. But still, if you do not like something, you _must_ tell me." His shirt joins his pants. 

God, Carlos hopes that it wouldn't hurt too much. The anxiety and the pressure is still simmering, still threatening to undo his composure, and he is pretty sure that any kind of significant pain will drive him over the edge. And he doesn't want that. He is a grown man, he can't cry during sex, he just can't. 

Cecil wouldn't mind, would back off no matter how much he wants it, but Carlos would still be embarrassed. That couldn't happen. He won't let it happen. 

Soon, Cecil's hips are pressed up against his crotch, Cecil's chest is squashed up against his own, Cecil's shoulder is hovering over his face, Cecil's mouth is wet against his neck as he mushes his lips and teeth and tongue against his skin. Carlos hums, his hands working at the sheets. So far, everything is going…fairly well. Cecil smells nice, perfumed. Carlos wonders if Cecil uses cologne, or if it's just some natural musk, or court-ordered residue. 

As Cecil grows more adventurous with his hips and mouth, the smell grows stronger, to the point where Carlos wonders if he's exuding some kind of pheromone. Carlos had already assumed Cecil to be inhuman, or superhuman, though he'd yet to see much physical evidence of this. One could tell, just through his mannerism, that there was something _more_ to Cecil, more than what just has immediately met Carlos' eyes.

A bite on his neck causes Carlos to inhale deeply, drawing more of the scent into his system and damn, it's _extremely_ potent now. Carlos opens his eyes into Cecil's shoulder, and what he sees there surprises him.  

Cecil's tattoos look like they are--smoking? Tendrils of mist seem to be lifting off the inked skin, like they are evaporating clean off in the desert heat. He feels the wispy touch of the smoke in his hair, and it's no cause for alarm until the tendrils become shockingly corporeal. 

He cries out, slapping a hand to the side of his head only to find something muscular and warm curling up against his scalp, something like a boneless, fingerless arm that writhes like a small animal beneath his palm. He becomes horribly aware, then, of similar touches on various points in his body, all terribly solid and intrusive and oh God, _oh God_ \---

The anxiety in his stomach returns tenfold and he feels like he's going to throw up. Carlos had already been nervous enough, thinking he was going to at least deal with a body plan that was familiar to him. He--he can't do this. He throws his forearms up over his face and whimpers. It's pathetic, so _pathetic_. He wonders if Cecil will leave, will be disgusted with how he's acting. The touches on his body retract, and Carlos lets out a tiny sob, because he's sure that Cecil is gone, sickened by this embarrassing display. 

Instead, he feels fingers gently trace over his forearms, making the hair on them prickle. He swallows, shaking his head. 

"Oh Carlos," Cecil whispers, fingers pressing more insistently into Carlos skin but not grabbing or prying. "I'm sorry. Please don't be scared. You don't have to hide from me."

Carlos takes several deep, heavy breaths before he begins to inch his forearms away from his face, eventually settled his hands against his collarbones. Cecil's tentacles are gone, settled back into the ink on his arms and chest, though he can still see tiny movements wresting through them. Cecil is looking at him with big, mournful eyes, and damn it, Carlos feels so _guilty._

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice thick in his throat. "I didn't think…again," he laughs, his voice thick and edging on miserable. He keeps fucking up, and it's frustrating. He just wants to have sex; it's a basic human desire it shouldn't be this _hard_. 

"Do you want to stop?" Cecil's voice is even, but Carlos can certainly pick out the slight sigh of disappointment. He curses himself and his reaction. He really _doesn't_ want to stop, he is just nervous as hell and fuck, he's probably fucking Cecil up about his tentacles by acting this way. He is making Cecil feel as badly as he does, and that is not okay. He manages to smile.  

"N-No. I don't." Cecil raises a skeptical eyebrow.   

"Carlos…Are you _sure,_ Carlos? It's quite a bit to take in, I imagine, and I don't--well, I don't want it to be too much.

We don't have to do anything now, either," he continues backpedaling. "Not if you don't want! We don't have to do anything if you don't want to." 

"Cecil," Carlos stops him with an upraised hand. Cecil's mouth draws into a shut line. Carlos worries his lip, trying to think of a way that will both calm him down and convince Cecil that he really does want to continue. 

"Just…just give me a second, okay? Let me just…take a look. Stay--stay still."

He slips out from beneath Cecil, who obediently stays in place, watching him out of the periphery as Carlos moves around him, stopping beside his back. 

Carlos raises his hands nervously, knowing that this is his chance to not only explore, but also to reciprocate, the thought of which makes his stomach gurgle in fear. Carlos had always be up to learning new things, yes, but he'd had a wealth of knowledge and scientific competency to back up his confidence, whereas with sex he is a complete novice. It had been better just to avoid the entire thing, but now that it is here and happening he wishes he had engaged a little more before Cecil, that he knew how to please Cecil just like the man was trying to please him. But he needs to at least _try_. At the very least, try to understand Cecil's body. 

"How do they," he mumbles, tracing the thick markings spread over Cecil's back and shoulder blades. The tattoo mists again, following the trail of his finger as if the heat from his body is making it come alive. Within a couple of seconds, the mist solidifies into a tiny appendage, no longer than a couple of inches, which wraps lightly around his finger and gives it an affectionate squeeze. Carlos catches his breath.

He wants to study it. Whether it's nonsense or science, he wants to observe it and figure out how this tropic response functions, how that induces the appendage to manifest, _how_. 

Also…he wants to see how it responds to him, not just to outside stimulus but _him_ , specifically, which seemed much more appropriate given the situation. He licks his trembling lips, and before his brain can override his body and tell him to _stop_ he dives in and licks and strip along the longest branch of the tattoo before him. 

He hears Cecil make a noise but can't quite discern what it is because suddenly the whole tattoo vibrates, wriggles underneath his tongue. And then suddenly it's swelling, the mist phase lasting for a mere second before something suddenly solid fills his mouth, stretching it out as the tips of the tendrils tickle the back of his throat. His throat spasms and he pulls back, spit slicking his lips and chin as he coughs for air. 

Cecil turns, hands catching Carlos face. His expression is a mix of concern and arousal and it's so confused in its mosaic that Carlos laughs, even through his coughs.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Besides, it looks like you liked that," he gasps, grinning despite himself. Cecil blushes further, hand retreating to cover his mouth. Carlos' smile softens as he reaches up, curling his finger around the slick tentacle wagging gently over Cecil's shoulder. He's glad to find something _he_ can do that can drive Cecil crazy. It had been starting to feel like Cecil held an unfair weight of arousing prowess over him. 

"I think," he murmurs, feeling the tendril vibrate against his touch, almost as if it were purring. "I think I'm ready, now."

"Are you sure?" Cecil asks, eyes flickering up from the tendril coiled around Carlos' finger. 

"Yeah. They're not so bad," He gives the tendril a gentle squeeze, feeling it expand as his grip transfers more stimulating warmth across its flesh. The tentacle grows forward, dripping off of Cecil's shoulder and carrying Carlos hand with it, gently depositing it on the man's chest as the appendage begins to curl up his sternum and towards his throat. 

"They're going to come out a lot more once things start to get…more heated. I like to use them, it makes our options more. Versatile."

"It's fine. I'm okay with them." Carlos swallows. "It's my first time. I don't…really have anything to compare it to, so. Whatever you do, Cecil, it'll be fantastic. Just…one question, though."

He peers down at the soft bulge in Cecil's boxers

"Are you…are you the same down there?"

Cecil blushes, letting out a nervous laugh.

"I suppose you could say that. Do you…do you want to see?"

"I'd like to see what you'll be putting up in me, yeah Cecil." It comes out somewhat rudely, but Cecil doesn't seem to mind all that much. He dips his boxers over his hips and wriggles out of them, revealing himself to Carlos. 

Carlos is grateful, in that moment, for the fact that he's already bore witness to the fact that Cecil has tentacles, because it makes the sight staring back at him far less shocking. 

It looks like a flower of soft, mauve flesh blooming from Cecil's groin, the petal tendrils fanning and flexing around a ridged stamen of a darker, flushed violet jutting forth from the fleshy depths. It reminds him of high school AP biology, when he spent nights struggling to memorize the difference in anatomy between gymnosperms and angiosperms. He reaches out and runs and finger over one of the tendrils. It's damp and warm, and the touch makes Cecil shiver. 

"So," Carlos breathes, a smile tinging the sound, "That's why you looked so surprised when…when you saw me."

Cecil blushes deeper, and nods.

"Ah, yes. I didn't want to say anything to make you more nervous, but I was expecting something a little more…"

"Purple? Prehensile? Plural?" Carlos smirks.  

"All of the above," Cecil seems relieved enough to smile. "Not that the reality is anything less than perfect. Just different."

The purple in his eyes is warm, and swims with possibility. 

"I like different."

Carlos matches Cecil's smile. He runs his finger against the same tendril, watching it lap against his cuticle. 

"I'm finding…I'm finding that I kind of like different too."

They both laugh for a moment, enjoying the sounds of each other and the heady flush of something _new_ and thrilling dancing at their fingertips. Cecil loops his arms over Carlos' shoulder and presses their foreheads together, sharing his laughter against Carlos' lips. 

Their chuckles slip away slowly, fading into a silence that it far from awkward and does not need to be filled, until Cecil finally leans in and kisses him again.

The moments between them grow more soft, more intimate. Anxious, experimental touches are beginning to give way to simple feeling, the joy of existing in a shared space. Their touches cease their mere exploration and melt into quiet enjoyment.

Cecil soon lays him back as they resume their previous positions. Carlos feels utterly warm and boneless, holding Cecil around the ribs as he feels the man's mouth over every inch of his face until the point where he wonders if they've suddenly become mouth _s_ , but that observation is far off and irrelevant, especially once Cecil rears back and spreads Carlos' thighs with purpose.  

Cecil catches one of the tentacles lifting from his spine in one hand, running his hand over it before gripping it with another and wringing it out like a wet towel. Something wet squeezes out of it like an over-saturated cloth. 

It's translucent, and lightly tinted purple, and drips from Cecil's palms, sliding down his wrists and dotting against the bedsheets. 

"It looks a little strange," Cecil murmurs, spreading the liquid between his fingers, "But it feels nice. It will do the job."

He crouches between Carlos thighs, the tentacles helping open him up as they loop gently under his knees. Carlos watches as best as he can, both assured and embarrassed by the sight of Cecil's face staring at his more intimate regions. 

Carlos scrunches his eyes shut at the first finger working itself into him, the lubricant tingling against his skin. Something snakes up the sheets and steals into his hand; a tentacle, which pulses in his hand as if squeezing it, comforting him. Carlos brings it up to his mouth, pressing it to his lips in a quiet prayer. Its tip strokes at the crow's feet crinkled at the corners of his closed eyes. 

It does hurt, but Cecil is so slow and so gentle and so careful with his graciously long fingers that the strain and pull of his muscles isn't as painful as it could have been. That disparity reminds him of just _how_ much Cecil cares, and he feels a rush of affection that manifests into a kiss that's hungrier than usual on his end once Cecil again moves himself up to Carlos' level. Carlos feels both of Cecil's hands thread into the graying hair before his ears, and wonders when he managed to slip a tentacle inside him and how a transition like that could possibly feel so seamless. He groans into the kiss and breaks it as he feels the appendage within him spread out a lovely kind of pressure. 

"There we are," Cecil hums, re-capturing his mouth for a brief kiss, "Does that feel good?"

Carlos can only muster a moan in response. Cecil chuckles. 

"My. Can you hear yourself? Can you hear yourself the way that I do? Let me tell you. You sound _beautiful_." The tendril flicks on the emphasis of that word, as if they and Cecil's voice are intrinsically linked. All the independent parts of Cecil are running together like watercolors, like the ink of the tattoos that have not yet manifested and instead bleed in their ecstasy down Cecil's arm and chest. They melt over his skin like candle wax, pooling in the crease of his stomach and the dips of his ribs. Carlos vaguely wonders if more heat, more arousal will help them to change their state, to evaporate up into the innumerable tentacles that creep along both the bed and his body. 

"I could bring myself off just listening to you…without ever having been inside you…" Cecil purrs against Carlos throat, the vibrations warbling into him and making him shudder. 

"But where is the fun in that?" He punctuates this with a bite against Carlos neck, lingering for a moment to lap at the skin before drawing back up. 

Carlos had never considered the fact that he would love a multi-limbed Cecil, but _God_ does he love how Cecil can run his hands through his hair and ghost fingers over his cheeks and lips as the tentacles held him down, apart, and open, preparing every last inch of him for what is to come. They almost seem to work as a system independent from Cecil himself, who is busy lavishing kisses upon Carlos' skin as they tear open a small aluminum package retrieved from the pocket of Cecil's pants and slip the condom awkwardly over the main branch of his cock. 

They seem to be in endless supply, too, provided with enough stimulation. The excess tentacles pool underneath his head and neck, propping it up as more of the appendages spill over his chest and soft stomach, two of the smaller ones wreathing his cock in a gentle squeeze that makes him huff a breath between his teeth. 

Finally, Cecil sits up, allowing a bit more room between him and Carlos so that he had enough space to work. More of the ceaseless appendages appear from the skin of his back and ribs and help to lever up Carlos lower body, as those still wrapped tight around his thighs hold them high and wide. 

"Are you ready?" Cecil whispers. Carlos can feel the tip of his genitalia flicking up against his ass, and he shudders.

"Yes. Please, Cecil."

Cecil doesn't ask again. He acts instead, pushing forward with his hips, wriggling his dick all of the way into Carlos as the tendrils wreathing it help to pull him open. 

And Carlos _feels_ that one intrusion _everywhere_. From the moan that rips from his throat, to the spike of pressure in his stomach to the flood of thoughts in his head, he feels it. 

He doesn't know how the rest of Night Vale copulates, how the hidden monsters and dangers living in the specks of dust and between the folds of the bed fuck, doesn't care what their genitals look like. This--it's special and singular and exclusive not just because of the tentacles, but because it's Cecil. 

He can't feel the scratch of the bedsheets, can't see the darkened ceiling, can't hear any of the typical night-time noises that usually permeate the walls at all. Instead, he can see smooth walls of black and purple, can hear hot breaths and the soft sounds of suction, can feel the inconceivably amount of appendages forming their insular cage around and over his body. The skin is soft and smooth, like an frog's, but it radiates a steady warmth uncharacteristic of amphibians. It defies taxonomy and classification, and that's wonderful, that's Cecil. That's Night Vale. 

Carlos' fingers twitch, retracting into his palm as his toes do the same, curling into the sheets. The fingers find purchase when Cecil slides both hands into Carlos', lightly pinning the man's arms up above both sides of his head. Cecil butts his nose against Carlos cheek, emptily mouthing against the skin.

"You're so beautiful, so _so_ good, I'm dying, I'm dying."

"Jesus," Carlos huffs, his breath hot against whatever part of Cecil his mouth is now closest too, he can't be sure, "Jesus, this is… _oh…"_  

He's being held and touched by _everything._ The mass of tentacles have formed a barrier around him and Cecil, and he couldn't see the bedroom if he'd wanted to because of all the sweat and sex keeping his eyes squinted. 

It's like he's being fucked on a waterbed made of warm, thick flesh that moves and dips and supports him in time with every movement.  Warm tentacles are wrapped around his calves and thighs, holding them up and open as Cecil pushes in deeper, his thrusts negligible when compared to the sheer movement of the tendrils inside as they pulse and squeeze and lash about, and Carlos feels as if there's an entire ocean full of life inside of him, roiling back and forth with the sole purpose of drawing as much breath and pleasure out of both him and Cecil as possible. And through it all is the firm, intimate grip of both of Cecil's hands laced in his, keeping him pinned and grounded and so very aware. 

"Oh, Carlos, I'm _dying--"_

And Carlos wonders if, maybe, he's dying too. If this was dying, then maybe it wasn't all so bad. Maybe, he can could stand to stay in Night Vale a little bit longer if the inevitable death that awaited him was something a lot like this. 

And as he lays there being fucked Carlos also forgets about the intense fear that's governed his head and churned his bowels in nervous anticipation of this very event. It feels like every bit of anxiety is a worried wrinkle that is being slowly and carefully smoothed out and warmed by the gentle caress of Cecil's tentacles, his hands, his voice. Carlos feels absolutely surrounded and safe, even from the danger that lurks just outside the door, and probably inside the bedroom as well if Cecil hadn't set up those sigils and had him file the appropriate paperwork. 

In the end Carlos does find himself crying, but not out of pain or embarrassment but instead of sheer pleasure. He sobs as he comes against his own stomach, his eyes wet and blurry and unable to see much of anything and reduced to only feeling _everything._ The tendrils inside him soon follow, spasming and wriggling against him and squeezing around the thick shaft of Cecil's dick until he too comes. 

All the tentacles shudder too, in a shockwave emanating from the epicenter of Cecil's body that ends with pressure against all those appendages wrapped around the various parts of Carlos body. Just when it starts to become painful, the pressure stops, and all of the various appendages immediately relax, pooling down over Carlos' body and over the bed as Cecil himself melts forward against the scientist, just barely managing to prop himself up on his elbows. Cecil slides out of him after a moment of breath, and as he does the tentacles vanish, evaporating into puffs of smoke that are slowly draw back to the vacuum of Cecil's skin even as he lets out a long, satisfied exhale. Carlos' takes a moment to breath, as well, before Cecil returns to his natural state of fretting. 

"Oh no," Cecil moans, flattening his fingers against the wetness of Carlos' cheek. "What happened? Did it hurt? Carlos, you should have told me to stop, I--"

"Cecil," Carlos halts him in a quiet, breathless laugh. He smiles, and the skin around his eyes crinkle up. He lifts his hand, absently brushing against the man's blown-out hair. Cecil closes his eyes and leans into his palm, before nesting his chin against Carlos' sternum and murmuring. He laces his hands behind the scientist's neck.

"Gotta clean up, you know," Cecil mumbles against Carlos chest, lightly blowing at the wiry hairs. "Be disgusting if we don't. The lubricant is very hard to get off the skin once it dries. We'll need some steel wool."

Carlos nods, glancing idly about the bedroom until he notices something odd. The sheets around them should have been rucked and wrinkled to hell and back by the sheer energy of their sex, but instead Carlos finds them to be completely flat, as if recently ironed, only creased where they come to dip under his and Cecil's bodies. 

"Give it a moment?" Carlos offers, not yet wanting to disturb the current calm surrounding the both of them, and stir that discomfort in his stomach, which is currently occupied only by warmth. Cecil keeps his eyes closed, but turns his head so that his cheek is pressed up over Carlos' heart, sending it into bright palpitations. 

"Of course."

 


End file.
